If you are under the age of, say, forty, this piece is going to have very little relevance to your life.
Even less if you are under the age of twenty.
So, if you are pressed for time and have no particular interest in ploughing through what will very likely read to you as an arcane, bordering on anachronistic, assessment of a events that took place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, please know that no offense will be taken if you opt to jump off the page and move along with your day at the conclusion of the very next, and very short, paragraph.
Thanks for stopping by.
Tomorrow, John Lennon would have celebrated his seventy first birthday.
And like most birthdays, this one has the dual effect of reminding us there is cause for commemoration and/or celebration as well as reminding us that yet another year has rolled over on the meters of our own personal life taxis.
Made out of newspaper and appearing on the shore.
And, then, there's that whole "oh, Lord, here comes another twenty four hours, give or take, of not being able to swing a dead cat without hitting a TV or radio that is, has been, or is about to be, playing some or all of "Imagine".
Or, better or worse depending on your personal pop palate, "Birthday".
Yes, we're goin' to a party, party.
In 1963, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis poetically lamented, following the assassination of her husband, John F.,"...so now he is a legend, when he would have preferred to be a man...".
Loath as I am to put words in anybody's mouth, I can't help but think that John Lennon would feel the same way.
Lennon himself alluded to the concept, years ago, when he summed up, in one of the myriad of interviews he and his fellow fabs gave along the way, how he perceived his particular place in the sun.
"...we were just a good pop band that got very, very famous...".
And, given his rebel with a cause approach to most things, I imagine (sorry, the word does inevitably show up as a verb now and then), that he would have experienced a considerable disdain at becoming the fodder of tribute shows, coffee mugs and weekend music marathons.
Especially given the way he sardonically, if not too subtly, mocked the way his much loved/loathed kindred spirit/sibling ran willingly into the limelight of mainstream adoration and acceptance.
And what's wrong with that? / I'd like to know.
Personally, I remained musically loyal to John and his work pretty much right up to the end.
Truth be told, though, I lost interest somewhere shortly after the first solo album.
Actually, even midway through it.
Because my affection for the work was rooted in the love of the taste of the entire recipe.
I never much cared for coleslaw by itself.
But I totally relished it as long as the three pieces of extra crispy, mashed potatoes and gravy were along side to make it all come together (right now..over me).
So, to each his own noted and notwithstanding, I'll be taking a pass on any media musings on the life and times of the "leader Beatle" today or tomorrow and, in the process, will hopefully avoid having to do any weekend wondering about how easy it would be if I try.
And if I should meander into a mood that demands a little looking back, I'll pull a couple of tunes that say more to me about the diversity and depth and talent, as both singer and/or songwriter, of the guy than any dozen imaginings.
Happy birthday, Johnny. You're the toppermost of the poppermost.
